


Pranks of Modern Boys

by jouissant



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1930s, Gen or Pre-Slash, Halloween, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 09:33:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2503007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jouissant/pseuds/jouissant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I dunno, Buck,” Steve said, screwing up his mouth thoughtfully. “Seems kinda like extortion to me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pranks of Modern Boys

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mizzmarvel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizzmarvel/gifts).



> Trick or treating in North America has its roots in the western US and Canada, and didn't quite make it all the way east until the early 1940s, only to be stymied by sugar rationing during the war. But I figure Bucky was the type of kid who had his ear to the ground in matters involving candy, so he managed to be ahead of the curve.

_On Halloween we made the belated discovery that gangsterism has infected the pranks of modern boys. They come to the back door and say, ‘Tricks or treat?’” --Chicago Tribune, 1941_

 

“I dunno, Buck,” Steve said, screwing up his mouth thoughtfully. “Seems kinda like extortion to me.” 

“Extortion? Come off it, Rogers. It’s perfectly legal. This kid Johnny from around the block just moved from California; he says they do it out there every year.” 

Steve sighed. Bucky was like this when he got his mind on something, a dog with a particularly juicy bone. “Fine,” he said. “What are you supposed to do again?”

“S’easy,” Bucky said. “You dress up for Halloween, see, and then you go around house to house and you ask ‘trick or treat.’ And then boom, candy. Supposed to be candy, anyway; Johnny says some wiseasses give out rocks and stuff.” 

Steve’s eyes narrowed. “In case you forgot, we ain’t got a whole lot of houses around here.” He gestured out the window at the neighboring buildings. “And how’re we supposed to dress up? We got no costumes.” 

“Apartment to apartment, then, ya _pedant._.” 

Steve snorted. Bucky held up a stack of brown grocery bags he’d apparently managed to charm out of the greengrocer. “About the costumes,” he said. “Where’s your scissors?” 

Steve gave Bucky a look, then dug under the bed til he came up with his box of art supplies. He rummaged through its contents—stubby pencils, odds and ends of charcoal—until he came up with a pair of kids’ safety scissors. “Don’t lose ‘em,” he said sternly. 

Bucky mock-saluted. “You still got that inkwell?” 

…Which was how Steve and Bucky ended up in a couple of masks that would have been garish, had Steve had more to work with than a pot of ink and a rusty quill pen. Steve drew himself a monster, scaled and be-fanged, and Bucky was a devil, his horns curling awkwardly where their arcs met the folded end of the shopping bag. They took turns cutting out eyes and mouths, and when they were done Bucky held Steve’s bag open and gestured for him to lean in. 

“Hold still,” he said. 

Bucky dropped the bag over Steve’s head. The paper smelled sweet and woody, like sawdust, and through the too-small eyeholes Steve could see Bucky trying to hold in a laugh. 

“What?” Steve asked. “Do I look scary?” 

“Sure do, Rogers,” Bucky said, voice full of mirth. 

“You put yours on,” Steve said, his voice sounding muffled and strange against the inside of the bag. Bucky did, easing the bag over his head carefully. “How do I look?” He raised his hands over his head, contorting his fingers into claws. 

“You look like hell,” Steve said. “Literally. Now when’re we supposed to start?” 

Bucky shrugged. In the mask, the action looked foreign to Steve, like some part of Bucky really had been swallowed up by the monster. “When it gets dark, I guess.”

***

“Bucky Barnes,” Steve wheezed, slumped against a trash can. “This was your worst idea yet. I think you just made up tricks and treats altogether.”

“Hell, Stevie, how’d I know she was gonna call the cops on us?” Bucky sat up and peered at Steve. “Hey, you all right? Steve? Steve!” He grabbed at the front of Steve’s shirt, hauling him up like he was a drowning man. 

“Whoa, easy,” Steve said through a haze of laughter. “I’m fine. I’m fine, I’m only laughing. Just—did you see her _face_ when she opened the door?” He dissolved again, his whole body shaking, and Bucky seemed to catch it too, the two of them a shaking mess in the alleyway, the remnants of their masks crumpled beside them, paper softening. 

“She wasn’t even scared,” Steve went on. “Just mad as a damn wet cat.” He let himself slump against Bucky, relishing the way the warmth seemed to pour off of him. 

“Steve Rogers, laughing at a little old lady,” Bucky said. “Must be Halloween after all.” 

“Mrs. Miller shoots at rats in the alley with a pellet gun,” Steve said. “I think she can hold her own against a couple of second-rate ghouls.” 

“Hmm,” Bucky said. He wrapped an arm around Steve’s shoulders, and Steve didn’t think he was imagining the way Bucky’s thumb rubbed little circles against his sleeve.“You know, I think you’re right.” 

They sat like that for longer than anyone with half a brain should sit in an alley on a chilly night. But Bucky was close, and he smelled good. The moon hung above them in the sky, fat and yellow, and it seemed portentous somehow. Steve couldn’t quite bring himself to move.


End file.
